Brave New Worlds

Over the past few months, I’ve written a half-dozen columns examining the ethics and rationale behind a variety of space initiatives. But there’s one central question that I have yet to tackle: Why should we care about space exploration in the first place?

Some space enthusiasts choose to ignore this question altogether. If you ask them why you ought to care about space, they might look at you like you’re crazy — “Well, why wouldn’t you? Are you, like, against science or something?” But when billions of taxpayer dollars are going into space-related research every year, and the benefit to the public is not always evident, the “why” question needs to be addressed.

Unfortunately, the common arguments in favor of space exploration have glaring holes in their logic.

What was the most important event in the history of space exploration?

I’m willing to bet my life savings that most of you chose Apollo 11 — or, more specifically, the exact moment in 1969 when Neil Armstrong placed his left foot on the surface of the Moon. But, of all the breakthroughs in space science over the past century, why pick that particular leap? Why not, say, the moment in 1959 that the Soviet Luna 2 probe became the first man-made object to ever touch another celestial body?

We attach a special significance to a human’s warm, fleshy feet touching down on another world, rather than the cold aluminum of a robotic explorer. Many space enthusiasts can’t wait for us to “get to Mars” — ignoring the fact that probes and rovers have been rolling around the Red Planet for decades. We naturally want to see our own likeness exploring the depths of space; for most of us, robots just don’t cut it.

Is humanity prepared for an extinction-level event?

No, I’m not referring to the coronavirus. As devastating as this current pandemic is, it doesn’t pose an existential threat to humanity. But imagine a deadlier virus were to emerge — one with a 100% fatality rate. Or an asteroid impact? Or a nuclear holocaust? Is our species prepared?

To protect the human race against extinction, one proposal that has been floated by scientists and science fiction authors alike is to establish human settlements on other planets; a multi-planetary species is far more resistant to extinction than a uni-planetary one. The most realistic candidate for a human colony is Mars.

As we collectively reel from the devastating impact of coronavirus — an impact made far worse by the Trump administration’s inept response — I figured now would be a great time to revisit another of this administration’s forgotten blunders.

On December 20, 2019, the Trump administration inaugurated the United States Space Force as the sixth branch of the U.S. Armed Forces, with the mission to organize, train, and equip space forces “in order to protect U.S. and allied interests in space.” However, this was no giant leap for mankind. All the administration did was rename the Air Force Space Command (which has existed since 1982) the “United States Space Force,” and designate this new group as its own, independent branch of the military.

Trump’s decision to create the Space Force was met by most people with lighthearted derision. Folks on Twitter lampooned the decision to use Earth-tone camouflage for the official Space Force uniform, as well as the similarities between the Space Force’s logo and the insignia of Star Trek’s Starfleet Command. Steve Carell is even working on a comedic “Space Force” series for Netflix.

What’s the largest amount of money that you can think of?

The biggest U.S. lottery jackpot of all time was $1.586 billion. The total net worth of the world’s richest man, Jeff Bezos, is estimated to be $116 billion (at the time of publishing). And in 2018, the Gross Domestic Product of the entire world was $85.910 trillion. With those figures in mind, I ask again: what’s the most money that you can imagine?

There is an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter, named 511 Davida, which is estimated to be worth $15.4 quintillion. That’s 15,400,000,000,000,000,000 dollars — in other words, just enough money to afford popcorn at your next trip to the movies. In fact, Davida is one of a few dozen asteroids in our solar system that are valued at over a quintillion dollars; hundreds more are valued in the trillion- and quadrillion-dollar range.

When I visited the Kennedy Space Center, I couldn’t wait to see Launchpad 39A. From that exact spot in Florida, humans first broke free from the Earth’s gravitational pull to visit our neighbor, the Moon. Besides the Apollo program, 39A was used as the launchpad for dozens of space shuttle missions. I believed that standing in such a historic location would make me feel closer to space without ever needing to leave Earth.

So, I was shocked to find that Launchpad 39A had been leased to SpaceX and completely remodeled. While nothing could erase the significance of the location itself, SpaceX’s logo undermined the many groundbreaking NASA missions that had been conducted there. At risk of sounding melodramatic, it felt like something sacred had been violated.

This experience speaks to a broader trend that has characterized modern space travel. For most of the 20th century, getting anything into space was only feasible for massive government agencies funded by billions of taxpayer dollars. But now, as the required technologies have gotten cheaper and corporations have gotten larger, private companies have been able to play a far more central role in spaceflight.

When I was younger, I looked to the stars for humanity’s future. But recently, a chant I heard at a climate rally reminded me to keep my attention close to the ground: “There Is No Planet B.”

There are some people who disagree with this slogan; they believe that “Planet B” really exists, orbiting the Sun just a bit further than Earth. One such believer is Elon Musk. If you visit Musk’s twitter account — which I don’t recommend, it’s pretty cringy — you’ll see that his cover photo is an illustration of the planet Mars in four stages of development. The first shows the red Mars that we know today; the second depicts a greening Mars with a small liquid ocean; the third expands the foliage and waterways and even introduces a Martian atmosphere; the fourth is almost indistinguishable from Earth.

This process, known as “terraforming,” is a massive technological undertaking whereby a celestial body, like a planet or a moon, is modified in order to become habitable for humans. It’s a common theme in science fiction, but some people — like Musk — think it could actually be achieved. Elon thinks of Mars as a backup planet in case something goes wrong on Earth. All we need to do is tweak Mars’ current features to be more like Earth’s, and voila: humanity has a cozy new home.